<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Quiet Evening by Hatchered</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301064">A Quiet Evening</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchered/pseuds/Hatchered'>Hatchered</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Pacific (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchered/pseuds/Hatchered</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening in the rainy jungle is sometimes exactly what two weary Marines require.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Heavy Artillery: The Pacific Tenth Anniversary Comment Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Quiet Evening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: Written for the prompt "A quiet evening" for the The Pacific 10th Anniversary Comment Fest in the Heavy Artillery community. Also, this is the first time in a long time I've tried writing Andy/Eddie, so I can't promise it's even decent. Endings are also always a problem for me so... here we go</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of the rain outside of the tent was almost deafening, the water flooding down the hills and dragging mud and rocks with it. The paths the engineers had once made disappearing and giving way to brown rivers of sludge. It was a wonder the tents were still standing, and that there was anything that was still dry. Each trip to the latrine or the mess tent always threatening to drown the men brave – or stupid – enough to venture outside. </p><p>Eddie had experienced many a hurricane and tropical storm over the years, the rainy season at sea always bringing them in and showering ships, islands and men until there was nothing but water everywhere. The sea and the sky merging into one for weeks on end, and men doubting they would never see the sun again. It was a miserable experience, but one he had long since learned to handle. The storms had always passed, and the skies had cleared, and he had never doubted they would. </p><p>But there, in the middle of the jungle on a dark, stormy evening, it was harder to imagine what the world had been like without the rain. The darkness was so compact, the rain so loud and the stench of rotting trees, bodies and equipment so strong that it was hard to focus on anything else. They were all too aware of the enemies lurking in the dark, of the sudden sounds of machine guns or a foreign tongue that could appear out of nowhere at any moment. </p><p>That night, however, Eddie hoped – practically prayed – that the Japanese would stay in their own stinking camps. That they would curse their own gods and sulk while licking up their last grains of maggoty rice. That their screams of Banzai! would stay away another night, and that the Marines would be given a rest. God knew they all needed it. </p><p>A hand reached out and gripped the neck of the worn guitar. Lifting it carefully as if afraid it would crumble if he moved too fast. The instrument was old, older than Eddie, and he was sure it had seen almost as much of the world as he had. He could still remember it stuffed in a corner of the living room in his childhood home, gathering dust until a young Eddie one day had picked it up and brought it back to life. He didn’t even know where it had come from, but it had become a companion for him from that day forward. A companion he had abused while learning to play, picking at the strings over and over until his mother had banned him to the porch. It had been the one thing he had brought with him when he had left home, and it was the only thing from that place that he still had left. The only thing that could remind him of that place and the few happy memories he had. </p><p>The sound of the strings barely pierced through the heavy rain outside, but it was enough for Eddie to be able to momentarily forget where he was. Calloused fingers moved over the strings with the same ease water flowed over slick rocks, and there was a natural ease to it that always made him feel… calm. Even as he tuned it, with eyes closed as his ears listened for the correct sounds, he was already calmer than he had been a moment ago. Calmer than he might have even been in months. </p><p>He would always still be on edge, his ears always listening for tell-tale sounds of trouble, but the sound of the guitar always made it easier to ignore his frayed nerves, if so only for a few minutes. Eddie could barely even remember the last time he had been allowed a moment like this where his guitar was able to have his undivided attention. Or, as undivided it could be with Andrew Haldane lounged on his bunk across the tent. </p><p>Andy was the only person Eddie ever allowed himself to relax around. The other man’s strong presence always made a difference to the atmosphere of whatever space he was in. He had the kind of presence that could make any crowd of rowdy men grow silent, and Eddie would always be in awe of that ability. Andy rarely had to raise his voice to make men listen, and Eddie knew that was one of the many reasons why he was respected the way he was. </p><p>“Careful, Eddie, you don’t want to play too nicely, or you might bring the Japs back.” Andy’s voice interrupted Eddie’s thoughts, and his fingers slipped off the guitar strings. His hand rubbing against his already damp dungarees as if drying sweat off his palm. </p><p>“Sorry, sir.” The apology was automatic, embarrassed, even though Eddie knew that Andy wasn’t reprimanding him. “I’ll stop.” He moved to set the guitar down, but Andy’s voice cut him off again. </p><p>“You know that’s not what I meant.” Andy’s voice was soft, and Eddie could hear him shift on his bunk. “I never sleep as well as when you play. Those fingers of yours are more than gifted.” Eddie’s eyes rose, meeting Andy’s, taking a moment to just study the other man’s face in the dim light. The tent would soon go dark, and Eddie knew he had to savour this one look before the call of lights out came. </p><p>“That’s one hell of a compliment, sir.” Eddie’s reply was low, voice barely able to cut through the rain as he returned his eyes to the instrument in his hands, fingers soon moving over the strings again. A soft tune of a song he knew Andy enjoyed floating through the tent. Eddie didn’t even have to turn and look as he heard Andy let out a sigh of contentment to know that the other was already dozing off. Even after light snores started to cut through the air, Eddie continued playing, giving Andy the time to properly fall asleep before he even thought of getting some sleep himself. Andy needed his rest more than Eddie ever did, and Eddie was going to allow his Captain as much of it as he could. The war had already taken enough, but rest was one thing Eddie wasn’t going to allow it to take from Andy. Not as long as Eddie had something to say about it. As long as his hands could play and the rain kept pouring, Eddie would do his best to give Andy the best sleep he could.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>